Bika: an inner journey by Henrik Nor-Hansen
I’m trying to get away from the idea of travelling as a story lined drama, as something that unfolds from A to B. It’s a Western tradition to see the journey as a coherent story. Afraid of losing ourselves, we sort it out with a line on a map. Or if not on a map, it should be ‘an inner journey’, with some personal growth. It involves purpose and heroism.
But modern travelling implodes on itself in the lack of purpose. Most journeys doesn’t even involve contact with the locals. That’s why a two week vacation to Phuket or Machu Picchu is more about a crying kid on the plane. It’s like our suffering is the real story. We’re battling delayed flights and hotel rooms with a lower standard than we were promised. The backpackers are even battling slow internet connection. It makes a story. The further away we go, the more time we spend on the web. We’re telling the story as the journey unfolds. What we’re trying to get across is the absurd idea that our life is getting somewhere. Discovering that it’s getting nowherem we stay online, trying to make sense of something that’s incoherent in its core.